Chapter 23 #2
Once we spend nearly fifteen minutes lying motionless beneath thick undergrowth while two armed men pass close enough for me to hear fragments of their conversation.
Nico suddenly catches my arm and pulls me behind the trunk of a fallen tree just as another patrol appears over the ridge. There isn't enough room for both of us unless we're practically on top of each other, and before I can protest, he shifts me in front of him and crouches low.
"Don't move." He murmurs.
His arm settles around my waist, not gently but firmly, keeping me tucked against him as the men fan out through the trees only a few yards away.
I force myself to stay still.
His breathing is slow and controlled against my shoulder, completely at odds with the frantic rhythm of my own heart.
I become painfully aware of every point of contact between us, of the warmth radiating from his body despite the cool shade beneath the trees, and of the steady pressure of his hand against my side.
The tight space is forcing us so close together that if either of us moves even slightly, our lips might touch.
One wrong movement, one snapped branch, one careless breath, that's all it would take.
The voices grow louder as the patrol moves through the trees. One of the men stops so close that I can see the mud caked onto his boots through the gaps in the branches. Nobody speaks. Nobody moves.
Several agonizing seconds pass before the patrol finally continues deeper into the jungle. For a brief moment, neither of us says anything.
"What were you doing on my jet?" I ask quietly.
For a moment, Nico simply looks at me. His expression doesn't change, but something flickers behind his eyes before disappearing just as quickly.
"Not now."
The answer frustrates me more than outright refusal would. He knows exactly what I'm asking, and we both know this isn't the first time he's avoided giving me a real answer.
Before I can push further, his attention shifts past me. His gaze sweeps through the surrounding jungle, the brief moment of distraction already forgotten.
"We're wasting time hiding."
"What are you suggesting?"
"They have numbers." He says, glancing toward the direction the patrol disappeared. "We have terrain. If we keep running, they'll eventually corner us."
It only takes a second for me to understand where his thoughts are headed. " So we start hunting them."
A faint smile touches his face. "Exactly."
The afternoon becomes a blur of calculated risks.
We stop thinking like prey and start thinking like predators, using the island against the people trying to kill us.
Nico studies the terrain constantly, steering patrols toward unstable ground, narrow paths, and places where visibility works in our favor.
Whenever an opportunity presents itself, we strike quickly and disappear before anyone realizes what happened.
The first man I take down happens almost by instinct. He separates from the rest of his team to investigate a noise deeper in the trees, and by the time he realizes he isn't alone, it's already too late.
When I slip back through the trees, Nico's eyes immediately find the blood on my knife.
"You didn't wait."
"I didn't need to."
A slow smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "One."
I frown. "One?"
"One body."
"You've started counting?"
"We're both competitive. We might as well be honest about it."
I shake my head. "You're unbelievable."
"You'll thank me later when you stop pretending you're not keeping score too."
I don't answer. Mostly because he's right.
The hours blur together after that. Every patrol we separate, every ambush we survive, somehow becomes another point on an imaginary scoreboard neither of us ever agrees to, yet both of us keeps updating.
Nico drops another man with terrifying efficiency before glancing over his shoulder. "Two."
"Oh, don't start."
"You sound nervous."
"I sound annoyed."
"There's a difference?"
"There will be when I beat you."
He laughs under his breath. "We'll see."
Not long afterward, another attacker wanders too far from his team. When I rejoin Nico, I don't say a word. I simply wipe my knife clean.
His eyes narrow. "...Three?"
I smile sweetly. "Keeping up already?"
"I was letting you catch up."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night."
By evening we're tied, and neither of us is willing to admit how invested we've become. Another patrol appears. Another opportunity.
When it's over, Nico strolls back toward me with an annoyingly satisfied expression, cleaning his knife before slipping it back into its sheath.
"Eight." He says, sounding far too pleased with himself.
I glance at the body lying a few yards away and fold my arms. "I distracted him."
"You threw a rock." Nico replies, raising an eyebrow.
"He turned around, didn't he?"
"He turned around because someone threw a rock at his head."
"Exactly. I created the opportunity."
Nico lets out a quiet laugh. "I created the opportunity. I killed him."
I shrug. "Minor details."
"They're very important details."
"Says the man obsessed with keeping score."
He shakes his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth. "You've invented your own scoring system."
"I prefer to think of it as... flexible."
"It explains a lot."
The final point comes late at night.
A lone attacker breaks away from the remaining group and spots us before we spot him. He barely has time to lift his rifle before my knife finds its target.
By the time Nico reaches me, the man is already on the ground.
I glance up with a grin. "Nine."
He looks from the body to me before letting out a long, theatrical sigh.
"I had that one." Nico says.
"You were too slow." I reply.
"I was five seconds away."
"And I was already here."
He mutters something under his breath.
"I think that's called losing." I say, unable to hide the satisfaction in my voice.
"I don't lose." He replies.
"You literally just did."
For a second, he looks as though he's considering arguing. Instead, he shakes his head and lets out a reluctant laugh.
"You're never letting me forget this."
"Oh, I fully intend to remind you." I say with a grin.
The smile lingering on his face tells me he already knows I will.
By the time it's pitch black, the game has long since stopped feeling like a game.
We're bruised, scratched, and running almost entirely on adrenaline, but we've survived another day.
As we make our way back toward the cave, the silence between us gradually returns, leaving me alone with thoughts I've been trying to avoid since the plane went down.
The attack was too precise to be a coincidence. Someone knew exactly where I would be, knew my flight path, and sent enough men to make sure I never left this island alive. I can't stop turning the question over in my mind, searching for a name that makes sense.
I glance at Nico.
"Who do you think could orchestrate something like this?"
He doesn't look at me. His gaze remains fixed on the darkness ahead, his expression unreadable as he continues walking without breaking stride. The silence stretches between us, and after several long moments, I realize he has no intention of answering.
Somehow, that unsettles me far more than any answer could have.